A morning and afternoon snowy walk

Bulldogs, snowy tussocks, aspen woods and prehistoric rivers...

We woke up this morning to a fresh covering of snow on the ground - finally!

This is our routine but today Scoutie was on high alert. Soon after I took this picture, I walked past her on the path but she stayed still, hackles up. I called, nothing — she stood still, like a statue. I couldn’t hear or see anything but she could.

I decided to continue along and told her that if she stayed close to me, she’d be safe. There are coyotes in these woods.

She thought better of her decision and caught up. Then all of a sudden, we met with the source of her concern: a man walking his decidedly independent and stout bulldog, who was trundling along in his dapper coat, snozzling with his serious face and nose (where one begins and the other ends, I’ll never know) and throwing himself down like a wrestler on the brush piles just off the path. Scoutie must have heard this rustling and cracking of small branches and thought it was worth her concern.

We left “Gotti” (I have rarely seen a dog so personify his name) and his owner and continued our walk until we came out into the light and shadows…

The snowy hills and depressions hid the tussocks and vole holes that were below. It made you wonder what kind of activity was taking place underneath: the crunching of little teeth, the restless tossing of beetles (do they toss?), and the slow but steady breakdown of cellulose with the scent of decomposing grasses and wildflowers…

The river ice was brilliant with the rays of the sun…several river watchers and dog walkers had been here before us. Scoutie waits for me to put away the phone and catch up …

Our afternoon walk takes us to another spot, where I imagine a prehistoric river running across the valley, with the glowing aspen forest providing a water’s edge.

Behind me there is a rise, but not enough to block the golden light of the setting sun. The day has been mild and there is a layer of ice on the paths, just under the soft covering of snow. I walk along the perimeter of the paths, crunching down on the stalks of once-green grasses, in order to avoid losing my footing.

The fallen trunks of aspen are a natural phenomenon in the forest. They are a fast growing but weak wooded tree, forming groves to keep each other company, but not able to last long in their communities. They are a favourite food for beavers and perhaps that is why they have learned to enjoy fast and fleeting lives, even without the industrious dam makers taking their toll.

The light is beginning to wane and we are heading back. Good night fields and trees…until tomorrow.